


Apologies

by A_Study_In_Nerd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:45:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Study_In_Nerd/pseuds/A_Study_In_Nerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Reichenbach. Sherlock returns to London, confused about his feelings for John, but finds that John is already in a committed relationship with Mary Morstan. Angst will most likely happen. You have been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, so please don't judge me too much. I started writing this in a frenzy because Season 3 is coming out in a matter of days/weeks, depending on where you live, and I realized it might be my last chance until my precious headcanon was destroyed by the actual show. So, here goes.

For the first time, maybe in his entire life, Sherlock Holmes was truly and sincerely apologetic. It was unfamiliar for him, as he usually felt that nothing he did was really worth apologizing for, since he'd probably made the grating humdrum a little more bearable, at least for a few seconds. Not that normal people with their tiny, funny, little brains would truly be able to tell the difference, of course.

 

Except for John.

 

And that brings us back to Sherlock, and his sudden, shall we say fit, of apologetic feelings. The very reason Sherlock was trudging through the streets of London on a cold, January night was John Watson, and Sherlock's own need to say sorry.

 

Coat collar turned up against the wind and damp, per usual, Sherlock rounded the corner onto the street his army doctor apparently lived on now, according to the address Mycroft had given him. It felt so wrong not to be heading back to Baker Street, and John living anywhere else left Sherlock with an empty feeling in his stomach. Had John left their home so easily, without a backward glance? _But of course,_ Sherlock thought, _sentiment is useless. Still, it's unlike John to think such things are unimportant, entirely unlike him._  Strangely, though, Sherlock found himself clinging to sentiment. He had missed John over the three years he’d been gone, another unfamiliar feeling, and Sherlock hoped that John had missed him too. He had a difficult time admitting to himself that he had...certain feelings for John Watson. Of what nature Sherlock wasn’t quite sure. He had been planning on spending a quiet evening in Baker Street with John, and asking him all these questions about feelings, which baffled Sherlock, but he imagined that it would be just John’s cup of tea.

 

And Mycroft had mentioned something about John's life, as if it had been proceeding in an eventful manner without Sherlock’s presence. What had John been doing all this time to occupy himself and satisfy his adrenaline addiction? Certainly he'd not found himself another consulting detective? That was ridiculous, Sherlock knew he was the only human being on Earth to hold that title. He was one of a kind; the only one in the world.

 

  
Paying closer attention to the numbers on the buildings, Sherlock found the correct number and rung the doorbell. From inside he heard footsteps which were obviously not John's. They were lighter, more graceful, and the time between footfalls was shorter. _Of course!_ Sherlock thought, _John's gotten himself a girlfriend. They must be quite serious if they've moved in together, I recall that's a sign of being close to marriage._ A wave of horror swept over him _._ His John. Marriage. Close to. Girlfriend _. Oh, God._


	2. Chapter 2

A blonde woman of about five feet and four inches in height answered the door. Her confusion was evident on her face when she took in the sight of the consulting detective before her.

“I’m looking for John Watson,” said Sherlock, nervousness and jealousy roiling in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes, of course,” the woman replied, “Just wait in here for a moment, please.” She beckoned Sherlock into the house and told him to stay in the foyer while she turned on her heel and went to get John. Bouncing uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, Sherlock loitered about, looking around and deducing things about John’s new life from the little details around the house. He was distracted, however, when he heard John’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

“You asked to see me?” he said, and upon seeing Sherlock, promptly took a deep breath and turned around.

“Sorry,” John said, “I’m afraid I’m not feeling terribly well. Just a moment, please.” After a few more deep breaths, John turned towards Sherlock again, squinted, shook his head.

“John?” said Sherlock uncertainly, “Are quite alright?” John chuckled, but his face quickly became serious again.

“It’s really you, isn’t it? But...how? And why?”

“How is unimportant,” Sherlock said, making a dismissive gesture with his hand, “Moriarty had snipers focused on you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. If I remained alive, they would have killed you. I had to appear truly dead in order to stop them. After that, I disposed of Moriarty’s entire web. It took considerably longer than I had imagined it would. John...” he swallowed nervously, “I’m sorry. I am truly sorry, and I hope that this won’t cause a rift in our friendship.”

John laughed at that. Sherlock’s stomach clenched again, and he studied his shoes as if they were a crime scene.

“Sherlock,” said John, “You’ve been gone for three years, and you don’t want this to cause a rift in our friendship? Three years is a rift if I’ve ever seen one. Three years and a mustache.” Sherlock glanced up at that. Indeed, John’s face was now mustachioed.

“That’ll have to go,” he muttered under his breath. John laughed again, and held his arms opened wide. Sherlock looked up rather meekly, if Sherlock could be meek. “Apology accepted?”

“Yes, God yes, of course, you idiot! Apology accepted a thousand times over. Come here.” Sherlock grabbed John and buried his head in the doctor’s shoulder. John wound his arms around Sherlock tightly, like he wanted to make sure that he was real, wanted to verify that Sherlock was substantial and not just a figment of his own imagination.

“I really thought you were dead. I thought I would never see you again,” John said, his voice choked. When they pulled away, John was rubbing at the moisture in his eyes.

“Tea?” he asked. 


End file.
